A Twisted Tale
by 21st Century Gwaine
Summary: When an unfortunate night at the tavern results Arthur and Merlin being seemingly permanently separated, Arthur is left to try to struggle on with the assistance of his knights. The knights are torn between helping their Prince and at the same time battling their own grief. They all are afraid of how this story could end, for him and for each other.
1. An Unexpected Happening

_I shouldn't have let it happen. I was such a fool... such a fool... I should have never have expected him to care for himself, just for once to care for himself. The damned idiot, that stupid idiot... I should have saved_ _him. I _should_ have _saved_ him... And I didn't..._

* * *

The day was warm. The kingdom of Camelot had been strangely at ease for the past two weeks, leaving the knights, the King, and the Prince with a lot of free time. It slipped through their fingers, slowly and painfully, to a point where sleep, which could once have been seen as a nuisance, came welcomely. The knights found themselves spending most of their time in the practice fields, but they'd seemed to have become lazed even when it came to that. Nor were they the only ones; Prince Arthur found it exceedingly hard to focus on the down-stroke of his sword when it was all he'd focused on for weeks.

"Sire," came Leon's voice after practice had ended that day. It was the midday of the 16th day of unexpected peace. Arthur was sitting on a bench and loosening his chest plate, wishing Merlin were there to assist him, but knowing that the servant was helping Guias while there weren't too many sick to worry about and supplies could be gathered.

"Hm?" he grunted, fighting to haul his mail over his shoulders.

"It has come to the attention of Lancelot and I that we can only spar so many times a day." The well-respected knight stood a little taller, looked a little more alert, probably from long nights of rest. Too many nights of it, if you were to ask the crown prince.

"Agreed," said the blonde-haired boy, looking up at him as he put aside the last of his armor, feeling at least ten pounds lighter. "What did you have in mind?"

That was how the Prince, his knights, and his manservant wound up in the Tavern. There were many men there, toasting the past few weeks of prosper. The knights burst into rounds of laughter as Gwaine stood on a chair to toast, only to topple over onto the floor, tankard and all. After assurance that he hadn't harmed himself came in the form of Gwaine's drunken singing, the Prince joined in on the laughter.

Merlin was sat beside him, laughing along, though not taking up more than a miniscule amount of space on the bench. Arthur noticed how tense he looked, how nervous, and he suddenly felt a flush of guilt tint his ears. Merlin had probably never even been to a tavern. Though he was roughly the same age as Arthur, Merlin hadn't grown up on fine wine brought in offering from other kingdoms, been offered glasses of specially made mead since he was a child. Hell, he wasn't sure Merlin had ever had a drink in his life.

Elyan seemed to notice Merlin's discomfort as well, for the boy threw an arm around him and pulled him closer to himself on the bench.

"C'mon, Merlin," the young knight said in a brotherly manner. "You've been working for Guias all day. A little fun will do you good."

"Yes, have a drink, Merlin," Geraint urged, sliding a tankard across the table to him. Merlin was wide-eyed as he took the cup in his hands, glancing wildly around at the knights, until his gaze rested on Arthur. The Prince smiled, holding his own tankard up and nodding to him, encouraging him. His blue eyes returned back to the liquid in his glass, and tentatively, he took a sip. He made a bitter face- it was quite hilarious, really- but that soon melted away and his expression lit up. Elyan laughed, clapping him gently on the back.

"That a boy!" he laughed as Merlin took eager gulps from the metal cup now, as if he couldn't get enough. Within moments, he had finished it, seeking out another. Arthur presumed he was correct in it being Merlin's first time out drinking when the servant downed his third beverage.

"Slow down, Merlin," Leon chuckled, taking the tankard from the boy. The Prince was laughing with Gwaine and Lancelot, too invested in his own drink to be paying mind to the two.

"But I wan' more," Merlin protested, reaching for the cup. When the knight wouldn't return it to him, he resolved to get it from him forcefully. Leon found himself accidentally yelping as the mead zipped out of his hand, coming to a sloshing stop into the hands of Merlin. Merlin, who had gold eyes. All the knights stared at Arthur's manservant, and Arthur was gaping. He'd suspected it (more like known), and he'd kind of expected him to- he didn't think he'd just-

"Oi! Sorcerer!" The knights exchanged glances; none of _them _had said it. Before they could get their bearings in this mad situation, the King's guards had seized not only Merlin, but an irate Lancelot, an infuriated Percival, and the Prince, who looked as if he were about to be sick. All the way to the centre of Camelot Lancelot thrashed between two different guards, howling for them to let him go and rambling about how if any harm came to Merlin... Percival gave up fighting about half way to the castle, and the way the honest knight's feet dragged paths in the dust as the guards carried him only added to Arthur's nausea. He couldn't catch a glimpse of Merlin; he wouldn't see him until sunrise the next morning...

* * *

As soon as the sun was above the horizon, all were gathered in the Square. All, that is, aside from Arthur's knights, who, between the time the Prince had been locked in his quarters and the morning, had somehow gotten themselves locked in the prison cells. He felt it deep down that Gwaine and Percival had been the ones to lead the mayhem, whatever that had been. The young Prince felt the nausea from the previous night return as he was situated behind the executioner's stage, a pyre set with a stake in the centre. He tried his very best not to remember that Merlin would be mounted upon that very stake in moments, a fire ablaze beneath him...

Trumpets sounded, and out on the balcony above appeared Uther, looking more irritated than grim about putting his son's manservant to death. Arthur couldn't look at him... He closed his eyes and ducked his head down to the side, biting together his teeth as he heard the grand doors of the castle open. Chains rattled, the crowd silent aside from the sound of tears out to the far left. _Guias, _thought Arthur, though he dare not open his eyes and allow this nightmare to become his reality.

"A sorcerer," bellowed Uthur, his voice reflecting off the buildings and stinging the Prince's ears. "The servant of my son..."

Arthur heard chains being moved, either being changed out for rope or being tied, but he heard nothing from Merlin. The King continued: "Last night he used charms without words, without anything magical," said he. "Is this not true, Arthur?"

Arthur opened his eyes, the sun now harsher than he ever remembered, the silence that greeted him as the citizens awaited his response deafening. He looked up at his father, his chest heaving not with physical pain, but with emotion. He tried his best not to look at the tuft of black hair in the corner of his eye, tied to the wooden pole, but it was of no use. He turned his head to find Merlin there, his arms and torso held in the pyre by rope, chains discarded only a metre or so away. The servant's head fell limp against his chest, and though Arthur could not completely see his face, his skin was much more pale than he'd ever seen it. Tears fell from the tip of his nose, his lip shook, and every so often a small, terrified whimper would break the silence, and the servant would squeeze shut his eyes.

Arthur couldn't say a word; all the moisture in his mouth was gone. He felt stinging at the backs of his eyes, but he held it in. He daren't cry now, not in front of his people, nor his father.

"Arthur?" repeated Uther. "Is this not true?"

When his son would neither look at him nor speak a word, when he would do nothing but stare at the vermin held to the wooden pyre, the King sighed and waved a hand at the guards on standby with torches and oil in hand. They nodded once, then moved to the stacked logs; they'd performed this task many times over, but this time they found themselves hesitating. They knew Merlin, they knew what he did for not only Arthur, but the entire kingdom. They could see the dam about to burst behind the Prince's eyes... and so they hesitated, for as long as they could.

In the short time the guards' procrastination allowed, Arthur got Merlin to look at him. His eyes were red and puffy, a brokenness held in their depths. And yet, somehow... he smiled. The blonde couldn't hold it in anymore, and a few tears forced their way from his eyes as he tried to tear away from the guards that held him back.

"No, please!" The guards with the torch and oil were startled by his outburst; he had been silent up until now. "Please, let Merlin go... Father, please..."

"Arthur, enough." Uther sounded deflated, and though Arthur didn't look at him he could_ hear _him pinching the bridge of his nose. The guards holding the Prince would not let up, and as new tears refreshed in Merlin's eyes and Uther reissued the command to set the sorcerer ablaze, Arthur fell to his knees. He looked up at his friend as the one guard began spreading oil on the pyre; he took in everything about him, every detail. What if this was the last time...?

"Goodbye, Arthur," Merlin said, his voice cracking. Arthur's breath caught, and he didn't have time to say goodbye before the orange flames sprang to life and he cringed away, screwing his eyes shut once more. All the things he wanted to say, everything he needed Merlin to know... he would never hear...

Merlin's cries would embed themselves into his dreams for fortnights to come. It didn't matter how hard he shut together his eyelids, nor how stubbournly he ignored the heat of the fire; this nightmare_ was _his reality... and Merlin was dead...


	2. A Wild Goose Chase

_I should have done something that day. I should have said something more, done something more... I should have acted. Maybe things would be different if I had; perhaps we'd both be okay, or at least we'd be falling apart together..._

* * *

Four days later...

"Have you found him?" called out Lancelot to the other knights as they regrouped. Not a single one had good news of the morning's patrol.

"Not a sign," said Percival sadly, his voice rough and quiet. He hadn't spoken much in the days following Merlin's execution, and the other knights (though they didn't show it) were quite pleased just to hear him speak.

"He must want to remain hidden," Leon commented, his eyes cast down at the reins in his hands. His leather-clad fingers ran over the hide straps, and he would not look up at his brothers. He too had not been himself over the past three days.

"Are there any places we haven't looked yet?" Gwaine asked, eyes sweeping the gathering of men. Only Lancelot held himself at full stature, the others upon their horses with drooped shoulders and a radiating air of grief. For both Lancelot and Gwaine, grief was replaced with worry for Arthur's safety (and sanity).

"We've looked in all the places physically possible for him to travel since last night," said Elyan, forcing himself to look up.

"Perhaps," said Geraint suddenly, all the other knights (aside from Percival) looking to him, "he never left the kingdom."

"Never left?" Leon asked. "Where would he be?"

Geraint looked now to Lancelot. "His horse was still in the stables, right?"

To this, Lancelot nodded gently. "Yes, and so? What of it?"

Gwaine caught on to Geraint's ponderings at this point. "His sword was gone from the armory..."

Never had Prince Arthur's knights felt more dense than now. Though they had all now realized their folly, Geraint had to finish making his point: "Did no one think to check the training yard?"

* * *

Uther would probably be unhappy to find each and every practice dummy in the training yard diced into pieces, even less so when he learned that his son had been purposely leading the knights on a wild goose chase through and beyond the entire kingdom to find him. The maiden at the market would say she saw Arthur's horse go east for a few coins, the school teacher would say south... He surveyed the field, observing his damage, and with a wistful sigh he buried his head in his updrawn knees. Three days had been years, not a moment within them pleasant, not even tolerable.

For the first day, Arthur had tried his best not to pay mind to what had happened. He was the Prince, what was one servant to him? It was apparent by that afternoon that one servant meant _a lot _to him; he did not make his appearance to dinner that night. The second day, Arthur had fallen ill (or so he claimed and so Guias reported). He didn't leave his bed at all until the next morning, and he only ate when Guias came and threatened to tell his father that he was, in truth, physically well unless he ate something that day. The third day is when the strange peace that had overtaken Camelot for so long ended, and with a sense of excitement Uther took nearly half the army for a small threat between his own kingdom and a neighboring one. Left alone, Arthur and Gwaine ended up passed out drunk together out on Arthur's balcony. This was why Gwaine sounded the alarm, when he couldn't find his friend the next day.

Arthur had expected him to be the one leading his search party, and so was hardly surprised at all when he and Lancelot came riding into view. They hadn't yet seen him, and as they turned back to discuss something with the other knights for a moment, he had the time to gather himself.

"We should cover as much area as we can," Lancelot said, and he was about to assign pairs to seek out the Prince (Geraint and himself, Gwaine and Percival, Leon and Elyan) when he caught a glimpse of blonde hair just down the slope. He squinted his eyes against the slight glare reflected off the grass, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"Arthur?" Elyan looked out at him with worry, dismounting his horse. The Prince, in return, forced what he could of a smile and used his best acting abilities to make himself seem alright.

"Your tracking skills are becoming dull," he teased, hoping his smirk was convincing enough as the rest of the knights approached, Elyan holding his horse by the reigns.

"This was a training exercise?" asked Leon, seeming a little amused. Some of the others smiled as Arthur dipped his head in response.

"One that you failed, might I add," he said, and a few of the men chuckled. They were thinking that, perhaps, their friend was gaining some of his spirits back.

"What if the kingdom had been attacked?" Geraint laughed as he hopped off his saddle. "We'd have been leaving the castle defenseless chasing you about!"

Arthur laughed with the rest of them; obviously his faking was well enough...

"The town would be in flames!" laughed Lancelot, seemingly relieved. Conversation soon came of the knights, talking between themselves of all the clues they should have followed to correctly perform the Prince's "challenge". He was about to suggest they go on an actual hunting trip in a few days in order to sharpen their skills- though in honesty he could hardly care at all- when Gwaine spoke up.

"What happened to the dolls?" No one paid mind to him but Arthur, who kept on smiling. Was he referring to the sparring dummies?

"Dolls?" he asked, laughing a small bit, but when he turned to look at the knight there wasn't a tinge of amusement on his face. He looked completely passive, and for a moment the Prince's act almost faltered. Before he could speak, Gwaine turned to his brothers in arms and threw on a grin, one about as fake as his friend's.

"Now that we've found him, can we eat?" he suggested with a twinkle in his eyes. The other men voiced their agreement, and moments later they were turning to leave for the kitchens in the castle. When their acquired target tried to follow, however, he was stopped.

"Gwaine?" questioned the Prince. His friend looked at him with a dull expression, arm barring his path to follow his quickly disappearing knights.

"I'm not buying this," he said. "What were you really doing out here?"

Arthur stared at him for a moment, eyes narrowed. He wanted to say he hadn't been doing a thing, that he had already told him his intentions, but from the way Gwaine was looking at him he knew that there wasn't a point to pretending. "I had to be away for just a while..."

"So why didn't you say that?" the knight asked, watching with curious eyes as Arthur scooped up his sword from where he had previously been sitting in the bushes. "If you had asked to be left alone no one would have come to f-"

"They can't know," the Prince cut in gently. With silence from the second member of the dialogue, he continued. "If the kingdom knew how bad off I am right now-"

"They would understand," Gwaine insisted.

"And my father?" Arthur challenged, turning on his friend and holding a hard gaze. The knight found his words die in his throat; Uther would belittle him, insult him, try to force him not to care. It wasn't that Uther was a bad father, thought Gwaine, but he was a very close-minded man.

"I'm unsure," he decided to say, dipping his head a little. The Prince gave a nod, seeing he had won this argument; he returned towards the castle without so much as another word, Gwaine watching him. He knew what had to be done, if this was how far Arthur had fallen in a matter of days, and he needed to speak to Lancelot. As soon as he possibly could.


	3. Loss Changes Even the Strongest

_I suppose it was bound to end in our separation, but that makes no_ sense_. With our fates as entwined as they are- almost like they're one- how _can _we be separated? _Why_ are we...?_

* * *

Five weeks later...

"We _can't_. Not yet," Lancelot snapped, his voice low and quiet. The light cast off from the torch he held added to the sense of immediacy in the air, the sense of dire importance. They mustn't be heard, both knights knew; one word caught could lead to the collapse of this entire thing.

"You've been saying that a lot. We can't _wait_ much longer!" Gwaine growled in return, his eyes narrowing slightly at the other man. The darkened corridor was charged with tension, and a draft could only barely be felt, coming from the door to the supply cellar. For a few moments all that could be heard were frustrated, deep inhales and exhales. Shaking his head, Lancelot turned and began leading again, Gwaine at his heels.

"Arthur is stronger than you think," he said, eyes darting about to keep a lookout for any passing souls. Suddenly he was forcefully spun around; he had to hold tightly to the torch to make sure it didn't roll from his grasp.

"Arthur is more _human_ than _you_ think," said Gwaine aggressively, near glaring at his fellow knight. Another pause ensued, until Lancelot let out a sigh and gently moved the other man's hand off his wrist, passing over the light.

"We _can't_ yet. You _know_ we can't." he responded sadly, seeing the desperation in the long-haired man's eyes. As he turned away, leaving his companion standing dumbfounded in the dark, he had but one last thing to say: "I'm more worried about our brothers."

* * *

No one was on the training field, not today. Arthur, as was usual, found an excuse not to be with the knights. Today it was that he needed to go get a new custom saddle from the outskirts of town. He failed to remember that the castle held a blacksmith of its own who easily could have made said accessory.

Not that his knights cared so much. They always were tired nowadays, black rings fully visible underneath their eyes and their heads bowed. Sleep had been taken from them by crushing worry, and their pride had been stolen away by remaining grief. Actually, the grief wasn't as "left over" as it was growing, becoming more prominent in their minds.

Gwaine felt sharp pain in his chest as he wandered into the armoury that morning after he'd spoken with Lancelot. Suddenly he took his words into his mind and internalized them. The other knights were in concerning mental states: Leon often wandered away from everyone, returning anywhere from minutes to hours later; Elyan had developed the new habit of tapping his fingers and holding his hands together so tight his knuckles were paled; Geraint was suddenly aggressive to anyone besides his brothers in arms (and Arthur); and then there was Percival.

Gwaine watched him sadly from afar as he aimlessly organized the blades, took them down, arranged them again. Often he replaced them in the exact same order that he had just removed them from. About two weeks ago, the man had stopped talking all together. In the beginning he had been quiet, but now he didn't speak a word at all to anyone. Gwaine had tried begging him to speak, to at least to tell him that he was alright, but the one-sided conversation had ended with misted eyes and the bigger of the two fleeing into the corridors of the castle.

"He's doing it again?" Gwaine jumped, startled at the quiet voice and sudden, gentle hand on his shoulder. When he looked over at the person behind him, he immediately relaxed. Gwen watched on as the knight had been doing just moments ago as Percival again started to pointlessly rearrange items. At least he'd moved onto the shields now.

"Yeah," Gwaine sighed, continuing his watching. "He has been for a few hours, even though everyone else left a while ago."

Gwen looked over at her friend woefully as he gazed upon his currently mute brother. "And you've stayed...?"

He didn't say anything at first, but he then let his head collapse into his hands, elbows propped up on his thighs. His hair masked his face from her view, but she knew he had to be in a great deal of emotional pain. All knew that Percival meant a lot to him; Gwen knew how much Percival _truly_ meant to him.

"I just don't know what to do, Gwen," he said, and though his voice sounded sturdy the maid noticed how he quickly swallowed a lump in his throat. "Why can't I just _tell_ him?"

She gave a soft sigh, and took a seat on the bench beside him. Percival was rearranging the shields for the second time now. The first and second of the order were identical to the first time.

"I feel the same way about Elyan," she said, trying to look at her friend's face. He wouldn't look up. "He handles it all better than some of them, obviously, but still. But we can't, and you know that we can't."

The only sound in the room was the clinging of the shields as Percival took them from the rack again. If he noticed the other two presences in the room, he paid no mind to them. Finally Gwaine looked up, a tear or two about to break the tension keeping them in his eyes and fall to the ground. He turned his back to Gwen and hastily wiped at them before they could do so, and she pretended she never saw.

Gwaine stood up, gave one last, long gaze to Percival, then turned and held out a hand for Gwen. Once both were on their feet he explained. "I haven't seen Leon in while. Can you help me find him? Please?"

The phrasing of the request struck her. Usually he made things sound like he didn't _need_ you to help, but he was asking because he was being polite and seeing if you wanted to. This was something more than that. This may as well have been the same as telling her he needed someone there. With a saddened smile Gwen nodded.

"Of course I can."

* * *

He wasn't sure if he was wishing for the usual bustle of the streets or for quiet, but as of now he had the prior. No one questioned him or tried to talk to him as he walked straight ahead with a purpose that didn't exist in his stride. He knew he ought to get back to the castle at some point, but right now... He didn't feel ready to do so yet. He observed the flowers that were being sold and took note of the avian readings happening just a little ways down the street, the noise washing over him and surrounding him in a sort of bubble.

A hint of a smile was beginning to form on his face as he watched little boys playing some sort of game on the side of the road. He passed a lady selling her goat, an old man basking in the son, a mother with her young child who was laughing as the toddler wobbled hastily over to their father. It wasn't a bad day today.

Leon couldn't help but notice the beautiful things, the sad things, the dark and light... He just _noticed_. It all seemed peaceful, poetic almost. He chuckled momentarily to himself as he recalled the one time Merlin and Arthur had been "learning poetry" together. He never did learn what it was they _actually_ were doing...

As if spoken in devil's tongue, the knight felt an almost immediate heaviness fall upon him. He turned his head to the side; his smile faded away. Guias' house seemed always darker now, without the youthful boy that once made it seem so bright... He debated going inside to check up on the old man left behind, but after a moment of thinking about having to emotionally support someone and he already felt tired. Reluctantly, he turned his course and started his slow walk back to the stone building in the centre of the kingdom. It would all hurt less eventually.

He hoped.

* * *

"Stop that." Elyan looked up, blinking a few times, at the man who had just given the command.

"Stop what?" he asked Geraint confusedly, his evening meal sat untouched on the table before them. Not too long ago Percival had joined them, but neither even tried to engage him in conversation. It was pointless to do.

"That," said Geraint, gesturing with his head to how the other knight had his hands wrapped around his tankard. Elyan looked to the cup, seeing the way he held on so hard it could break if it weren't solid metal. He took a deep breath and lightened his grasp.

"Right," he huffed, pausing before taking his fingers away completely and placing them off the wooden surface and in his lap. "Sorry."

Geraint shrugged, taking a swig of his own mead and returning it. "No reason to be."

A slight sound of feet at the door made him turn from Elyan, looking to the source of the sound. It was only Gwaine, Leon in tow, and they silently joined the communion. At some point Lancelot came in as well, and not long after Geraint shooed the hovering servants out of the room and shut the door.

After the knights had all retreated to bed- aside from Leon, who had gone for a stroll, this time with Gwaine as a companion- the servants again returned. They began to clean, and after every few minutes a saddened sigh would escape someone's lips. Gwen creased her brow just a little as she cleared the table with the others, noticing a pattern that had arisen with her friends' eating habits in the past month or so: Empty tankards, hardly touched plates. This couldn't go on, not if_ this_ was how they would do so.


End file.
